Secret Recipes, Flour and Fluff
by SindarDragonRider
Summary: Newt and Thomas work at The Glade, a coffee shop in Scorch Street. Across the road is another coffee shop called W.I.C.K.E.D. Both shops and their staff get along well and there is a great friendship between them. Unfortunately, Janson hates The Glade, and everyone else has to deal with the consequences. Newtmas and Minho/Teresa


**A/N:**

 **Hi :) This is my first TMR fic, so some characters may be a bit OOC, but I don't think it will make too much difference to the story. Also, I originally wrote this as a fanfiction for my Latin textbook series (haha it may sound weird but it's with good reason, believe me XD) so if the name of a character is different at some point, I'm sorry. I spent ages editing it for this fandom but I'm not a particularly good proof-reader...**

 **There is a brief mention of a character's relative suffering from domestic abuse, so if that's a trigger for you please don't read this.**

 **Anyway, enjoy :)**

Newt slid a cup of coffee across the counter, calling the name written on the side as loud as he could over the noise that filled every corner of The Glade. Trying to force back the headache forming at the front of his skull, he found himself questioning his sanity in applying for his job; it wasn't that he didn't enjoy it - he loved the warmth of the shop and the smells that came with it, and spending all day with his boyfriend, Thomas, wasn't exactly terrible - it was the constant noise that seemed to permanently live in the place that he hated. Although he himself was hardly a quiet person, that didn't mean he appreciated a seemingly 24/7 attack on his eardrums. Sometimes he feared that he'd lose his hearing before he reached thirty, and what a tragedy that would be.

He'd suffered through another half an hour before Jorge came out of the kitchen, carrying two heavy trays full of various baked goods, and offered to take over while Jorge went out back and helped Frypan with the baking. At least, that's what Newt assumed he meant. Jorge had recently moved over from Spain on an exchange programme for a few months, and while he seemed like a perfectly nice guy, he couldn't speak a word of English. Newt wasn't really sure why he was even on an exchange in the first place, but he had learned to accept Jorge's frantic gestures and strange sounds as if they were intelligible words, and he thought they got along pretty well.

Sighing in relief, Newt opened the red door (red, what a generic colour for a coffee shop, honestly. Newt could have done better, he was sure) behind the counter and stepped through, relished the beautiful quiet in the room. The racket of the café was now muted and almost pleasant. A smile spread across his face, and he tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

A pair of arms wrapped around his waist, and Newt's grin grew as he turned to face Thomas, whose hands, face, hair and uniform were lightly dusted with flour so that it almost looked like he was covered in a thin layer of snow.

'Did you decide to go for a swim in the flour, Tommy?' he snorted.

He received an affronted look in response. 'Hello to you too.'

'Aw, you know you love me.'

'I'm not so sure anymore, to be honest.'

Shooting Thomas a sceptical look, Newt reached up and ran a hand through his boyfriend's hair, laughing as a tiny avalanche of flour cascaded over his shoulders and onto the lino floor.

'You're an idiot, you know that?' Thomas smiled, and Newt shrugged and grinned smugly.

'But I'm your idiot.'

Thomas rolled his eyes fondly, which Newt took as an invitation to draw a smiley face into the flour on his cheek. Exasperated, the brunet let out a quiet laugh.

'That is also true.'

Then he kissed him, and Newt forgot all about the white powder that ended up on his face in the process.

Eventually, they were forced to break apart at the sound of Frypan's cracking and reedy voice approaching from around the corner. As far as Newt could tell, he was singing 'New Perspective' by Panic! at the Disco, but that was mainly based off of the lyrics he could just about make out (the guy's enunciation was truly appalling, Newt noted with a strange feeling as though a small part of him had shrivelled and died). The melody itself was horribly off-key, and if someone's singing voice could sound like nails down a blackboard or a cat dying Newt could guarantee that Frypan's did.

'Stop there and let me correct it, I wanna live a life from a new perspective…'

From around the corner appeared the shop's owner, dressed in a t-shirt and skinny jeans that probably weren't regulation, but Newt supposed he could wear what he liked because he owned the place, literally. Atop his head perched a pair of large black glasses, and as he walked, a light shower of flour fluttered out behind him, but he seemed not to notice.

'Hey,' he called happily.

'Hi, Frypan.'

The shop owner slowly shook his head, causing a few bits of white powder to fall to his shoulders. Newt thought it looked like dandruff, not that he would ever say it out loud.

'Guys,' Frypan hummed, 'how many times will I have to tell you to call me Fry?'

Both Newt and Thomas rapidly plastered fake smiles onto their faces, and apologised, though when Frypan's expression melted into one of joy, Thomas lowered his head to mutter into his boyfriend's shoulder, 'Every day for the rest of his life, more like.'

Newt stood on his foot, but he knew Thomas heard him make a quiet sound of agreement. There was an unspoken understanding between them that they would never call their employer anything other than 'Frypan'. Considering they were all of a similar age, the baker hadn't wanted to be particularly professional, claiming it would be 'weird' (which, if Newt was honest, it would). However, there was a line between 'normal nicknames' and 'embarrassing nicknames' which Frypan seemed to want to cross on a regular basis, and Newt was not going to allow it.

'Well, I guess you two are going to do some baking now. I've left the list in the usual place – I'm going to take a break now, so don't expect me back for a while.'

They nodded.

Frypan grinned. 'Okay, see you later!'

Then he disappeared into the main shop, whistling the Portuguese national anthem. They'd learned not to ask.

Grabbing Newt by the hand, Thomas dragged him towards the kitchen, but they'd barely opened the door before a muffled yelling became audible from the main shop. They turned to face each other.

'Dear God, not again, please…' Newt groaned. 'This happened yesterday too. It never used to happen this bloody often…'

Thomas threw himself at his boyfriend and rested his head on his shoulder, letting loose a moan of despair. 'I know. I don't know how I'm even related to him. I mean, what's his problem anyway? It's not like we're going to tell him what he wants. Only Frypan knows, and he won't tell him either.'

Newt just pressed a sympathetic kiss into his hair. After a moment of silence broken only by the muffled sound of yelling from the main shop, Thomas sighed and, face still on his shoulder, mumbled, 'We're going to have to go out there, aren't we?'

Newt nodded. 'Unfortunately, yes.'

'Ugh.'

'Ugh indeed. Come on, Tommy, let's go get this over with.'

Thomas drew back and gave his boyfriend a grateful smile and kissed him happily. However, when he tried to deepen the kiss, Newt caught on to what he was doing and reluctantly broke it off, trying not to laugh at the kicked puppy expression on the brunet's face. 'Tommy, as much as I would love to continue kissing you, we both know you're just procrastinating and, as your boyfriend, it is my duty to stop you from indulging in damaging personality traits. I think avoiding helping your friends counts as such a trait. Now come on.'

Pouting, Thomas glared half-heartedly at him, but he couldn't stop a guilty grin from spreading across his face, and he allowed himself to be led out to the front of the shop.

'WHAT IS IT?'

Standing in front of the counter with a red face and rage in his eyes was Janson, or Rat Man, whose fist was, as usual, repeatedly colliding with the nearest solid object. Dressed in the white shirt, grey tie and black apron that was the uniform of the café across the street, W.I.C.K.E.D, his eyes were wildly flitting around the shop, while Jorge was cowering in a corner muttering 'El hombre loco ha regresado,' and Alby and Ben frantically tried to reassure their customers that everything was fine, and that no, the angry man was not a terrorist.

As soon as Janson caught sight of Thomas, his eyes grew wider and began to show a flicker of insanity. Lunging towards his nephew, he yelled, 'You! You know what it is, don't you? Tell me what it is. Tell me!'  
Despite having been in the same situation many times before, Thomas clearly couldn't quell the sudden need to lurch backwards away from his uncle, as he stumbled frantically into Newt, who gently steadied him and held his hand comfortingly. Janson looked like a madman.

Thomas took a deep breath and directed a stony glare at him. 'I don't know what it is and if I did wouldn't tell you.'

Janson glared at him and raised a fist. 'What did I do to deserve such relatives? First your sister, now you. I know you know the recipe and you're going to tell me, like it or not.'

Newt felt Thomas tense beside him. The brunet didn't like it when his uncle used the fact that they were related as a weapon against him – he'd told Newt once that Janson had abused his aunt when he was younger, and while they'd divorced years ago, there had never been enough proof to press charges. The man had improved in the years after, and Thomas had grown to tolerate him, but recently he'd developed an intense rivalry with The Glade after realising that W.I.C.K.E.D was losing potential customers to a unique blend of coffee that only The Glade sold. He'd been intent on stealing the recipe since, and went to extreme measures to do so. The Gladers had contemplated calling the police after he became more violent, but they decided that it would attract too much attention to the café and to Thomas, Teresa and Chuck, so they settled with maintaining a close watch over him. Firing him wasn't an option either, as W.I.C.K.E.D barely had enough staff as it was.

Squeezing Thomas's hand supportively, Newt stepped forward, frowning. 'First of all, what did he do to deserve you as a relative? And second, why on Earth would we bloody tell you where she is anyway?'

'It's not like we've told you on any of your last attempts.' Minho added scornfully, his styled dark hair wilting slightly as he ran over to join them.

A muscle twitched above Janson's eye.

'You are going to tell me because I demand that you do, and if you don't-'

Suddenly, the door slammed open and Teresa, Chuck and Aris burst into the shop.

Chuck and Teresa sprinted towards Janson and grabbed him by the arms while Aris tied a scarf around his mouth as a gag, reducing Janson's enraged ramblings to muffled angry noises. Newt was fairly certain that it was the same one they'd used the day before.

'Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry,' Teresa cried as she tried to subtly wrestle with Janson to keep him from throwing himself at the nearest employee. 'We weren't prepared; we didn't think it would happen again so soon.'

'It's getting worse,' added Chuck sadly, looking mournfully at the large coffee stain on his clothes from Janson's rabid flailing.

Minho grabbed some tissues and began to clean up the mess of pastries and coffee that decorated the floor, pausing to kiss Teresa on her way past. The two had started dating a few months previously after the Gladers had become fed up of his pitiful pining and forced him to confess his feelings. Teresa, of course, had kissed him immediately afterwards as the whole shop cheered. Newt knew Thomas was slightly weirded out by the fact that one of his best friends was dating his twin sister, but also that he preferred that to Minho's pining, so he'd learned to accept it.

Aris sighed. 'We really ought to go back to the shop. We left Brenda, Harriet and Sonya to deal with a huge queue and it doesn't seem to be going well…'. He trailed off. Newt looked out of the window into the other shop. The three girls looked panicked and were desperately trying to take orders from a huge crowd of customers, many of whom appeared to be shouting, faces contorted in anger. Newt felt Thomas wince behind him.

'Yeah… probably.'

Teresa gave them an apologetic smile. 'Again, we're really sorry. Hopefully it won't happen again for a while.' She turned her attention to Thomas, her expression melting into concern. 'You okay, Tom? Janson didn't say anything stupid, did he?'

From the floor, Minho gave her an incredulous look. 'Seriously? Is anything he says not stupid?'

Snorting, Teresa lightly kicked him. 'You're not as funny as you think you are, you know.'

Minho smirked. 'But I made you laugh, didn't I?'

'…Shut up.'

Minho blew her a kiss.

Rolling her eyes fondly, she focused back on Thomas, who was watching the exchange in amusement. Catching her gaze, he gave her a soft smile. 'I'm okay, Teresa. Really.' His smile turned playful and he nudged Newt. 'Besides, I have Newtie here to protect me, huh, Newt?'

The blond nudged him back, grinning. 'Of course, Tommy.'

Thomas beamed and kissed his cheek.

Still gripping Janson by the arms, Chuck scrunched up his face and made disgusted noises. 'You two are sickening.'

From beside Newt, Thomas cackled – actually cackled – and, maintaining eye contact with his younger brother, pressed a long, sloppy kiss on Newt's jaw. Newt just grinned and smirked at Chuck, who shot him a glare which, on Chuck, looked about as threatening as a baby hamster.

'I hate you both.' The boy grumbled.

'We know.'

Soon, Teresa and Aris were hauling Janson out of The Glade, Chuck following and throwing dirty looks behind him at Newt and Thomas. A moment of silence – blissful silence – passed, before Alby said, 'You know, maybe that's it for the next few days. The others over at W.I.C.K.E.D will be more prepared, and Janson can't be so determined that he's willing to face Teresa's rage, right?'

The Gladers nodded, allowing themselves a small moment of optimism. After all, Newt reasoned, they deserved it after the day's chaos.

Perhaps Alby was right.

He wasn't.

The next day, Janson had to deal with a very angry Teresa.

 **A/N:**

 **El hombre loco ha regresado = The crazy man has returned (done on Google Translate, so if it's wrong please correct me!)**

 **Thank you for reading, and sorry the ending was so bad :)**

 **Happy New Year in advance and please comment if you can spare the time - they make my day :)**


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